Chapter 341: You Should Pay the Price for Your Delusion
Go!
No nonsense, no speeches.
Both sides had committed everything. Fleets continued to slaughter each other, tangled in a chaotic melee within a 0.026 AU radius. Command centers were frantic, directing ground and aerial combat, gambling everything they had.
No one could intervene in the battle between the two demigods. This war, determining the fate of Cadia, had devolved into its most primitive form:
Soldier against soldier, general against general, king against king!
Craters and sword scars extended across the increasingly boundless hall. Weapons clashed, the wind pressure from firing kicking up dust, only to be pressed back down by the rushing colossal figures.
On the bridges of both ships, all crew members held their breath. Heavy sonic booms exploded within the confined space, making eardrums ache.
In the center of the chosen hall, weapon arrays on both sides activated simultaneously. Heavy artillery fire dragged blinding trails of light through the void. Some battle automata even collided in mid-air before the shells reached their targets, leaving cobalt and iron-grey afterimages.
They began to accelerate.
Romulus acted without hesitation, but not with blinding speed.
He knew the gap between them was not wide enough for a one-hit kill, nor would it be like an epic saga requiring days and nights to decide the victor.
Initial probing was key.
If it were a fleet boarding action, or one of those pretentious Chaos dueling rituals, or if it were a ground battle or if Arthur were present, he would have blasted him with a lance strike long ago.
Who knew how iron could be shaped into flesh and blood, or if a daemon manifesting in reality was inherently tied to flesh?
BOOM!!!
A shockwave erupted, rolling up the red carpet. Facing Romulus's proactive assault, Perturabo raised his hammer high and brought it down without flourish.
Fast and heavy.
Romulus adjusted his stance instinctively, feeling immense force travel up his wrist.
They passed each other.
Cough~
Romulus coughed up a mouthful of blood.
He spat out the bloody foam, wiped the residue from the corner of his mouth, and glanced at the ground where the broken weapon lay quietly.
Perturabo looked at his iron hammer, listening to the sound of their passing. He brushed away the scratches on his iron armor, a cold smile of assured victory curling his lips.
Then he turned around.
He showed a look of surprise.
The armor was still intact, the figure unbent. The blue giant still stood there unscathed, as if never injured.
Only the bloodstains on the ground proved that what just happened was not an illusion.
Perturabo had only seen such a sight in those brothers who embraced their true selves or ascended to become warp entities like him.
Especially Corax, the Raven Lord. Having embraced himself to become shadow incarnate, he was incomparably powerful, directly preventing Lorgar and his Legion from responding to Perturabo's request to join this campaign.
"Incredible."
Suppressed jealousy surged in Perturabo's sneer, his eyes burning like red-hot iron.
"That man actually taught you how to use your power, instead of deceiving you with his fabricated lies like he did us."
His voice was thick with bitterness.
If the Emperor had revealed the true nature of power to them earlier, how could he have been corrupted by the warp whispers that had plagued him since childhood?
If the Emperor had held nothing back, as He did with these latecomers, why would he have fallen into eternal self-consumption?
Romulus honestly didn't know if this guy was brain-damaged or what.
"What are you trying to say?"
Romulus regrouped. Suddenly, Ramesses's voice echoed in his mind, along with a matching set of vocabulary.
'Just agree with him for now. It's not like that lighting effect is fake. He's just jealous of you. And whether you look down on it or not is another matter, does the Emperor dare not care about you? Do the mortals under your rule not love you? Do those excellent Space Marines not respect you?'
'Send Master Art on a crusade for a vacation, go back to bed for a nap, and the next second Old Man Gold will be crying and knocking on your door begging you.'
'The reality is, just because we don't care, doesn't mean we don't have it. You should take it out and slap him in the face with it.'
Ramesses, watching from the shadows, didn't mind the chaos.
'Come on, pick a line. If you don't want to reason, you can just attack directly.'
Although Romulus always worried about Ramesses's indifferent attitude towards everything in this universe, he still acknowledged his way of handling things.
With these creatures living in their own worlds, you can't argue with them. Denying this and that only gets you dragged into their logic. Pure verbal attacks often achieve very good results at times like this.
He flicked his wrist, another weapon extending from his palm. After secretly calculating the verbal benefit, he selected a suitable response and said:
"If I apologize, would you feel better?"
WHOOSH!!!
Wind noise nearby and roaring in the distance came one after another.
A glob of viscous plasma flew past his back, blasting the pillar behind him into nothingness.
Unsurprisingly, Perturabo overheated.
He strode forward heavily.
I don't care if the Emperor pays attention to me!
I'm not trying to justify my rebellion this way!
Why did you say that?
How could you say that!
This insult plunged him into fury in an instant.
Perturabo's usual iron rationality melted and was washed away at that moment.
This made Romulus laugh.
He wasn't angry when overwhelming numbers of Iron Warriors died. He often flaunted his rationality and demanded it of others, but whenever something involved himself, he lost control.
From the decimation of the Iron Warriors that didn't meet his expectations, to the rebellion of Olympia where he killed his family and the Iron Warriors who refused the order to massacre, to now—
It was too ironic.
Perturabo himself believed iron was incredibly hard and invincible, so he always thought that with the right temperature, accurate technique, and scientific ratio, iron would be unbreakable.
Yet deep down he still craved love. Craved the Emperor's love, brothers' love, mortals' love.
And those mortals, try as they might, could not warm the heart of a god, and he never treated mortals as people.
And Romulus's smile, tinged with condescension, pierced Perturabo's fragile self-esteem like a sharp awl.
Around them, the one hundred and thirty Custodians were still fighting four hundred Iron Circle automata. The Iron Warriors had dispersed to other areas at some point, engaged in fierce firefights with the defensive troops in the corridors.
'The surrounding space is changing. Parameters are starting to resemble the warp.'
Romulus continued to observe, blocking two heavy blows, but was forced back again as his weapon snapped.
Retreat, sudden stop.
Looking up again, the Iron Lord had charged in front of him with violent momentum.
Romulus sprang up, meeting the charge head-on.
Two massive bodies collided with a crash.
Romulus, always focused on defense and not seeking a quick victory, dodged two fatal swings of Forgebreaker. His adamantium spear sliced open Perturabo's abdominal armor, black, oil-like liquid metal flowing down the cracks in the iron plate towards his thigh.
Perturabo swung the hammer again. The air rubbed by the hammer head ignited with blinding fire. The warp's gift made his presence terrifying, his shell expanding even more hideously.
Romulus bowed to dodge, constantly analyzing the trajectory, trying to clamp and block Perturabo's arm, struggling to stop the scorching hammer.
Just then, an Iron Circle robot that had killed its opponent charged quickly.
Romulus turned sharply sideways, dodging the melta jet thrust by the robot. He reached out, snapped the power sword swung at him, sliced open the mechanical shell, and plunged five fingers directly into the data core.
A momentary contact, then the blade met no resistance. One strike destroyed the robot's control system. The broken two halves of the body smashed heavily onto the marble slab, then merged into Perturabo's growing body.
Bang!
Perturabo's hammer sent Romulus flying.
Romulus rolled several times, falling heavily to the ground. His pauldron shattered, and the oil-stained weapon slipped from his hand again.
Romulus struggled to stand up.
Perturabo strode towards him. He glanced at the weapon still trembling on the ground, a hint of wariness flashing in his eyes. He knew the power of these brothers; every wound took something from his body.
A dangerous atmosphere was brewing. Romulus met his gaze fearlessly.
He continued to analyze. Although the raw soul material for materialization remained high due to war consumption, the remaining stock was enough to support this duel.
And Perturabo understood the meaning within, clearly understanding why the other party had refused to communicate with him all along.
That look was full of 'disdain', never paying attention to Perturabo, a person who was equal to him in status and personality.
Not understanding, and unwilling to understand.
He valued the power possessed by the existence before him, but completely despised the person wielding that power.
This was the purest belittlement of an opponent.
Countless thoughts surged in Perturabo's mind.
Countless thoughts exploded in Perturabo's brain: must end the battle quickly, must kill this arrogant brother, must destroy everything they cherish... Only in this way can it be proven who is the true winner.
Only in this way can these brothers face him squarely.
Disordered thoughts lingered in his mind, then turned into the purest offense.
Romulus sneered.
Yes, he didn't care.
He wouldn't treat a daemon who sent countless lives to their deaths on a whim as human, nor would he care if such a thing had any redeeming personality traits.
Why did Perturabo always care what he thought? How much did this guy want validation from others?
How insecure, how unreasonable was this guy?
The fierce attack came.
One hit, two hits...
Knocked down!
Stand up!
Three hits, five hits...
Knocked down!
Stand up!
Six hits, nine hits...
Knocked down!
Stand up!
Swinging the hammer again and again, wanting to destroy the existence before him that disgusted him incomparably.
Perturabo pushed forward constantly, chiseling at the cobalt armor that seemed unbreakable.
Time stretched. On the ground, craters were created one by one, the rising dust broken by human figures.
Beside Perturabo, the Iron Circle robots surrounding him began to fall into a disadvantage. They began to be destroyed and pierced by the increasingly fluid and targeted movements of the Victrix Guard puppets, then merged into the Iron Lord's body.
Time began to lengthen gradually.
'Why won't you die!'
BOOM!
Forgebreaker smashed down.
At this moment, the Iron Lord seemed to turn into an angry Titan, raising the hammer head.
The ground caved in in his eyes, a ring-shaped shockwave coming towards him.
'Why won't you die!'
Perturabo glared at the shadow in the smoke. Unknowingly, the precise fire coverage of the Iron Circle machines had disappeared. He could only rely on his brute force swing to smash at the brother who disgusted him incomparably.
CLANG!
Another loud echo.
But this time it was different.
At the end of the Iron Lord's strength, the arm that seemed only aesthetically pleasing to him firmly caught the hammer head.
Observe trajectory, adjust posture, flex muscles, transmit power—
Then, hold it firmly.
'Die!'
Perturabo mobilized all the power of his chaotic body and reinforced armor, continuing to exert force.
The arm did not move.
Crack!
Feet suddenly unstable at this moment, the air wave brought by pressure dispersed the rising smoke.
Analyze battlefield, adapt to warp energy, construct counter-array, correct muscle group exertion state—
The advancing hammer head gradually began to be pushed back. With targeted adjustments under heavy blows, these arms, constantly destroyed and repaired, gradually possessed the strength and skill to clamp it.
Then the psychic power began to gradually adapt to the Iron Lord's oppression.
Romulus didn't quite understand the imaginative application of psychic power due to his own rigor, but it didn't mean he had no cognition, nor did it mean he couldn't use it!
Clang!
The adamantium spearhead fell.
But this time, no new weapon appeared in the enemy's hand.
Through the smoke, Perturabo met a pair of crimson eyes. The sparks from the friction between that palm and the hammer face were dazzlingly terrifying.
'I see through you.'
Now, it was Romulus Quirinus's turn to dominate the battlefield.
The cobalt giant extended his palm.
Perturabo subconsciously wanted to defend.
But he couldn't.
This was his weakest defensive area, a weakness he hadn't cared much about since throwing himself into war ten thousand years ago.
No one could detect this weakness, not even himself, because no one's cognition of him was as clear as the person before him.
Perturabo could only watch helplessly as the thrust formed by the arm landed on his ribs.
Then muscles and bones tore, spine snapped.
The iron giant was heavily injured in an instant, falling to his knees.
The cobalt giant looked down at his opponent.
From now on, you have lost.
Arthur's judgment of Romulus was correct—
Compared to any other warrior, Romulus possessed the transcendent quality to defeat any opponent.
As long as he persisted to that moment!
The moment he saw through his opponent.
Romulus rode and killed with a solemn expression.
His thoughts were taut.
Every hit he took before brought knowledge, constantly increasing his understanding of the opponent in battle. This talent made him invincible at this moment, but the valuable experience it brought was hard to accept even for bystanders.
He could sense Drakus's tension, the Custodians' solemnity, the mortal commanders' fear.
Now, this tormenting moment was finally over.
Now, he began to gain knowledge from the process of offense.
He concentrated fully, continuing to strike.
The iron giant fell, stumbled.
The Iron Circle machines crawled and scratched under the siege of the puppet guards.
Romulus walked in a semicircle around the Iron Lord, then charged, bringing down thunderous execution with both hands.
Squelch!
Palm penetrating the body, Perturabo could feel something tearing at his soul.
Daemons do not die; only their physical forms can be destroyed.
But at this moment, the pain of being torn flowed through Perturabo's limbs and bones, driving them to cut open the Daemon Primarch's flesh and break those huge bones.
Black blood spurted like a gusher of oil. The vitality in the bones withered in screams. The flesh worn for visiting the mortal world was overwhelmed and collapsed.
When the apocalyptic palms tore open the armor, the divine machines full of mechanical beauty gradually could not stop the opponent.
Those hands were crushing them with merciless skill, dismantling those precise structures one by one.
Bang!
After a futile resistance, Perturabo was slammed heavily to the ground, then his chest was torn open. Just as he intended to counterattack, that force seemed to completely see through his movements, throwing him against the wall before he could think of a countermeasure.
The most decisive reaction, completely outside the Iron Lord's assumptions.
Yes, Perturabo was also evolving in battle.
But from the moment he was surpassed, he could no longer see the opponent's back.
Huff—
"Perturabo. Traitor. Enemy of Humanity."
The man standing in the center of shattered metal exhaled like thunder. His forearm muscles were torn, knees clicking, but he still walked firmly towards the Iron Lord.
He didn't care about Perturabo's motives, didn't care about Perturabo's thoughts, didn't care about Perturabo himself.
But the billions of lives buried because of Perturabo's actions.
He cared.
"You should pay the price for your delusion."
"Strange reversal."
In the warp, a Lord of Change whispered, slowly calming its breathing.
It pressed on its staff, looking warily at the sorcerer beside it.
The Changer of Ways was not stingy, extremely tolerant to both enemies and self, especially when facing the Dawnbreakers stirring up trouble in the material universe.
Just as war brought endless power to Khorne, the completely disrupted future also benefited the Changer of Ways greatly.
Thus, the burden fell only on them, the nameless Greater Daemons.
For the Gods, these mass-produced goods had no value compared to their desires; if they died, they died.
Watching Ramesses, who was 100% fishing for law enforcement again, the Lord of Change, feeling it should do something to improve in the future and not be treated as cannon fodder, asked curiously.
"How do you plan to deal with him?"
Ramesses remained silent.
His gaze was on the next battlefield.
That battlefield wrapped in viscous blood mist.
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